The Nap
by MsAdler583
Summary: John and Sherlock stay up watching some late night telly. Inspired by an episode of Friends.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own Sherlock, Benedict (I wish…) or John or BBC (again I wish…) or anything like that. I own a few copies of the stories and dvds and one poster, but that's it. This story was inspired by an episode of Friends. Always a good combination… :)

John flipped on the light in the cold flat. He dropped his keys on the table and made his way into his room. It only took him a few minutes to slip on an old sweatshirt and pair of comfortable gym pants. Padding into the living room in his socks, he stopped to turn on the television. There was a special on the BBC about the war in Afghanistan that he was particularly keen to see.

He continued into the kitchen to make some popcorn. He wasn't hungry enough for a full meal and with Sherlock out on his case, he would probably be alone all evening. While the popcorn was popping, he moved back to the couch. As soon as he had he flipped one of the channels, the door burst open and Holmes leapt over the table and onto the couch next to John in such a flurry of movement, Watson wasn't completely sure it was him.

"I did it," he said with a rare smile, "It was quite simple really. See, my mind was particularly stuck on the notion that when I turned the carpet there was no corresponding stain underneath. Lestrade was as baffled as ever." He paused to snicker, "But when I pointed out that there was, in fact, a corresponding stain where it shouldn't have been it made it quite clear that the carpet had been moved. In fact, the clue was so singular that I was thinking if you put that in your blog it should be the title of the whole episode "The Second Stain". Clever, yes? Are you cooking something?" He sniffed.

Holmes's words came out in such a rush John had to concentrate to follow them.

"What? Oh, yes. Hungry?"

"No. Change your clothes. We're going to go out and celebrate the closing of the case. Dinner on me."

"You just said you weren't hungry."

"I know. But you obviously are. And I'm in the mood to celebrate."

"Now?" John asked. It was rare that Holmes was ever in the mood to do anything other than lounge in the chair with his hands raised in a triangle in front of his face.

Sherlock stared at him as though he were an idiot, "Obviously. You're not actually doing something are you?"

John's glance flashed over to the television, "Well, there was something I was hoping to catch about Afghanistan."

"Oh."

It came out in such a pathetic little sound, John almost caved and got up to go change.

"Never any mind then. I'll just watch it with you. We can celebrate later."

Somewhat relieved, John stood to go get the popcorn. "You can change into something more comfortable. There's still a few minutes before it starts."

Sherlock looked down at his suit jacket and removed it, throwing it back on the couch, "You're right. Much better."

"Could I get that in writing?" he yelled as he walked into the kitchen and put the popcorn in a bowl.

John sat on the couch and grabbed a handful of popcorn, "I'm still not sure how finding the carpet was turned made you solve the case."

"It didn't." Sherlock replied as he stuffed the popcorn in his mouth, "Once I determined _who_ it was that moved the carpet, I knew exactly who had the letter and _that's _how I solved the case."

"I'll still need more notes if you want me to put it on my blog."

"Well," he said between bites, "It's probably best you don't write about it now. There are time sensitive details as of yet. Perhaps in a few years."

John turned to Holmes with raised eyebrows, "Now I'll really have to get more notes."

With a gleam in his eye, Holmes pointed towards the television and shushed him, "It's starting."

John almost said something, but instead turned to watch the screen.

John's mind wandered into consciousness at the sound of the television. He yawned and tried to move, but couldn't. Opening his eyes, he realized Holmes was lying on his stomach. He shifted whenever John did and his eyes shot open. Pushing himself up, he eyed John warily.

"What happened?" he asked.

"We were watching the programme and must have fallen asleep." John said rubbing his eyes.

"And that's all?"

"Yes that's all, what do you mean, that's all?"

Holmes scooted away but continued to watch him.

"Stop looking at me like that. I'm going to bed."

"Come on, John, admit that that was the best nap you've ever had."

"Good night!" he yelled as he hurried to his room.

Sherlock, wide awake now, unfolded his lanky form on the couch and turned to the television. It was just the right time for some great trash t.v. Reaching over, he scooped up a handful of popcorn before wondering what kind of ploy he would have to use to make Watson help him get a good night's sleep next time.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: What can I say…I was asked…[writers are such egotistical people, haha]

John entered the building and nearly ran into Mrs. Hudson.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hudson," he said cheerily. The look on her face made him wonder if it was not a pleasant evening after all. Usually there was one common factor. "What has he done now? Mixing chemicals, shooting the wall, playing the violin?"

She frowned, "That's just it, John, he hasn't done a thing. He was in an incredibly good mood earlier. Is he doing…alright?" she asked carefully.

John raised his eyebrows, "I'm sure he's fine, Mrs. Hudson. Nevertheless, I will keep an extra watch on him."

"Such a good boy," she said as she patted his shoulder and moved down the hall.

"Shooting the wall?" she called anxiously from behind her.

"Good night!" he called as he bounded up the stairs.

Watson contemplated the reasons Holmes would be in a good mood. He hadn't had a case since the end of the Second Stain incident nearly two weeks ago. In fact, he had been moping for the last week and hadn't slept for a few days. Watson imagined he must have gotten a new case today.

He opened the door to the flat and found Sherlock lounging in his tattered old bathrobe.

"Evening," he said happily.

Sherlock acted as though raising his head was too much effort. "Hullo," he muttered.

Not expecting as much, John pulled his coat off and hung it over one of the chairs.

"Busy?" he asked Sherlock.

"Does it look like it?"

He made an agreeing noise and moved into the kitchen to get a glass of milk. There were hardly any groceries in the refrigerator.

"I thought maybe you would go shopping today; without having a case and all. You don't have a case, do you?"

Sherlock put forth the effort of moving his head this time, "Does it look like it?"

"I ran into Mrs. Hudson, on the way up. She said you seemed in quite a good mood actually. I thought maybe you had gotten a case."

"Do you really spend that much time talking about me?" he asked as he resumed his spot on the couch, his voice deep as he mumbled.

"Yes, my life practically revolves around you, Holmes," he said as he took a drink. "Well, if you're not doing anything I suppose I'm going to check my email and go to bed."

"Really, I figured you would want to see this. There is a special on about World War II bunkers. But if you don't want to stay up that late, I can just tell you what happens."

John stuck his hand in his pocket as he walked over, "Oh?"

"I'll even take notes if you like," he said sarcastically.

"Well scoot over then; I could watch part of it before I check my mail."

Smiling, Sherlock moved to the other side of the couch as John sat down. The programme was something Sherlock had already seen and he used the time to calculate the fingerings on the third movement of Beethoven's Violin Concerto that he was having a slight difficulty with. Periodically he would glance over at Watson who seemed to be honestly interested in what was being said.

"Isn't that fascinating?" he would ask from time to time to which Sherlock would agree to no end.

Over the course of the show, his eyes didn't droop once. When the credits rolled, John shifted as though to stand up.

"Wait," Sherlock said, putting out a hand as though to force him to stay on the couch, "Reruns of Dr. Who?"

"What?" Watson said, confused, "Oh, for God's sake Holmes. I'm not going to sleep with you!"

Holmes feigned a scowl when he had been found out. A knock at the door startled them both.

"Who is it?" Watson called, rising and heading for the door.

"Mrs. Hudson," a voice called, "I've got some of your mail by accident."

Watson opened the door to find Mrs. Hudson making a strange face. She handed over the mail.

"Thank you," he said politely.

"Well now we know why he was in a good mood," she said under her breath trying to look around Watson.

"Good night Mrs. Hudson." He flushed, practically shutting the door in her face.

Holmes was trying to hide the smirk on his face.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," Watson said, tossing the mail on the table.

"Amusing? Not in the least. Tiring? Yes."

John sat in a chair by the couch, "Well I'm not tired. I'm going to check my mail and go to sleep. And lock the door first."

"I'm not trying to murder you, John. I'm trying to use you as a pillow."

"See, most people would not be friends with people who say things like that. There must be something wrong with me."

"What's wrong is that you're tired." He patted the couch next to him.

"You are absolutely ridiculous," he said as he slumped onto the couch. "It had better be a good episode of Dr. Who."

As soon as John had sat down, Sherlock nestled his head on his shoulder. "You know, most people would take it as a compliment that they make a good pillow."

"Most people wouldn't be able to live with you as a flat mate."

"Stop talking," Sherlock commanded.

John tried to frown, but he knew it just came out a grin.


End file.
